


Pour Out the Sunshine

by treeofworlds



Category: The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: M/M, i made myself sad writing this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-11
Updated: 2015-09-11
Packaged: 2018-04-20 04:37:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4773818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/treeofworlds/pseuds/treeofworlds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They are children, and this should never have been their life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pour Out the Sunshine

**Author's Note:**

> I made myself really sad writing this bc I was trying to write porn and instead this happened. I'm almost sure it's Caitlin's fault.

 

 

 

They are thirteen, mere boys, and the youngest kisses his friend between damp beds of fragrant flowers and green leaves.  
They are thirteen, and a goddess sends one away from the other.

  
They are thirteen, and a half horse, half man carries them both away to learn how to become men.  
They are thirteen, and the eldest throws the word worthy defiantly into the mountain air, perfectly sure in the defence of his friend.

They are fifteen, and they swim naked in the first waters of spring.  
They are fifteen, and they measure the differences in their teenage bodies, and hands stray, and one boy blushes and pulls away.

They are sixteen, and fifteen, and they discover each others mouths, and the pleasure of each others bodies.  
They are sixteen, and fifteen, and the golden boy makes a promise.  
_Name one hero who was happy._

They are sixteen and fifteen, and the golden boy is taken by his goddess mother, and the other boy follows. _If you go, I will go._  
They are sixteen and fifteen, and there are disguises, and revelations, and heartbreak.  
They are sixteen and in love, and a princess wife's soft hips are no match for the comfort of his best friend and love.

They are sixteen, and they go to war. They are sixteen, and one boy is death, the other heals.

They are twenty, and they are at war, and they share kisses at night and part at daybreak to kill and save.

Patroclus does not know how old he is, now. It does not matter, with a spear twisting in his stomach. All he knows is white hot, searing pain, and then...nothing.

Achilles burns bright and golden and furious in his grief, and he ploughs through the Trojan army until he nestles a spear in the hollow of Hector's throat.

And Achilles? He is ageless, with an arrow to the back, and a smile as his face strikes the earth.

 

_In the darkness, two shadows reaching through the hopeless, heavy dark. Their hands meet, and light spills in a flood, like a hundred golden urns pouring out the sun._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 




  



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